


Silent Avowal

by Fireplum



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, F/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2013-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-28 05:26:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/670777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fireplum/pseuds/Fireplum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fili understands that sometimes no words in the language of dwarves or men are necessary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent Avowal

Among the dwarves of the Blue Mountains, Gloin son of Groin was most highly considered, but not so much for his prowess in battle, which was very great indeed, as for his marriage to a famed dwarven beauty. Pel had a mane of glossy brown curls, a light beard of fine hair on the curve of her jaw and eyes the colour of molten gold, and Gloin had often told the story to whichever companions he was drinking with that evening of how he had had to battle against dozens of suitors for her hand.

“And that was the least of it,” he said between two gulps of beer to the group of dwarves gathered around the table, “for dwarf women are a rare prize that will not so easily be claimed. Isn’t that right?” 

He nudged his cousin Dwalin who was sitting next to him and they shared a growl of laughter. 

“Well, what happened then?” one of the younger dwarves asked with wide-eyed wonder.

Fili sighed and looked down at his pint. It mildly amazed him that there were still some dwarves left in Ered Luin who hadn’t heard this tale. Even the men who came drinking at the Stone Raven must know it by heart. 

“I had to prove my worth to her father,” Gloin said. “Confront him head on, axe out, while he tried to bludgeon me with his mace. After a good clean fight and a few bruises, he knew his daughter would be in good hands. But that wasn’t the end yet.”

The young dwarves were on the edge of their seats. Fili took a long swig of beer.

“The most difficult part of all is to convince the lady herself. Our customs have it that a dwarf must forge a jewel and give it to his love so that she may wear it for the rest of her life. And so I did, with great difficulty and not a little help from my cousin Balin.” 

“And she accepted it?”

“Evidently!”

“It must have been something to see…”

Gloin and Dwalin burst out laughing.

“Oh, it was something to see, all right,” Dwalin roared. “Misshapen and tarnished, more fitting for an orc than a lady! Why Pel didn’t throw it back to your face, cousin, I will never figure!”

“Well, that’s the thing, lads,” Gloin said with a grin. “In the end, none of that really matters. Our women are even more stubborn than we are, and once a lady has her heart set on someone, nothing anyone can do or say will make a spit of difference. She won’t accept anyone else than the one her heart desires.”

Gloin and Dwalin clinked pints and finished off their drink before ordering another round. The young dwarves looked mystified by what they had just heard, but to Fili, it all sounded very tedious. What was the point of going through all that trouble to suit a lady if she had already decided whom she wanted to marry in any case? Couldn't she simply say it from the start?

True, dwarf women were not given many occasions to express themselves. Those of marriageable age were so few that their fathers and brothers guarded them fiercely, like a treasure of immense value, and they were not expected to go about talking to strangers.

And yet, Fili thought as another pint was set down in front of him and beer sloshed onto the greasy table, there were other ways than words to make one’s feelings known. Just by looking, perhaps, or a way of smiling? He didn’t have any clear idea of how it might happen, but his instinct told him that silence wasn’t necessarily an enemy in such cases.

“You’re awfully broody, lad,” Dwalin growled. “Thinking of your own lady love, are you?”

“I have none, you know that,” Fili replied. “If I did, the whole kingdom would know in half a hammer beat.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you,” Gloin said. “No dwarf in his right mind would refuse his daughter to the heir of Durin.”

“I’m not worried. And I still have time. I’ve only just turned eighty-one!”

Dwalin shrugged and Gloin returned to his beer. He was indeed still young to marry. But Fili knew he would have to in time, especially if they ever took back the ancient seat of their folk, which his uncle Thorin would not fail to do as soon as the signs were favourable to them. It would then be Fili’s task to secure the line of Durin. 

He supposed there were worse lots in life, but when the time came, whom could he even choose? Were there any suitable dwarf women of his age? There was Mal, of course, with her braids like polished copper, her ivory skin and her broad, lovely smile. No doubt he’d have to fight off an army of suitors for Mal. There was another one he’d noticed as well, with dark hair and pale, silvery eyes, but he couldn’t recall her name. That made two. And what if they had chosen their heart’s desire already?

Fili glanced around him at the crowded inn. Things seemed so much simpler in the realm of men. They loomed about freely in their gangly, unnaturally tall bodies and their women didn’t mind the haste with which they were courted - perhaps because they all grew old and frail so fast - although not all of them took kindly to the bawdy words thrown their way. 

From the corner of his eye, Fili watched the girl who wiped the pints clean at the counter. She stood there every night, silently bearing the crude offers of the patrons, always keeping to herself. She was so slight a gust of wind might have thrown her off her feet and there was nothing alluring about her, nothing that gleamed or shone – even her reddish-brown hair was dull and tied back in a simple bun. Yet Fili had found himself looking at her more than once. Usually he found men to move awkwardly – it was nothing short of a miracle that some of them managed to wield the sword – but she was different. Menial as her tasks were, there was a particular sort of grace in her movements, a lightness that he had never witnessed before, as if she had to dance rather than walk to balance her head on her long, slender neck. 

The girl suddenly looked up from her washcloth and Fili realised he had been staring. But it was too late - she had caught him off guard. For a moment, she held his gaze with her large, doe-like eyes, then blushed and returned to her work. 

Fili clutched his pint. It had lasted no more than a second, but for some reason his pulse had quickened. He eyed his companions warily, wondering if they had noticed, but they were laughing at some joke or other. When Gloin raised his drink and started a song, immediately joined in by the others, Fili saw his chance. 

Again, he glanced over his shoulder at the girl. This time she was the one looking at him, a little uncertainly, but even though he had never been on the receiving end of such a look, he could tell that it wasn’t borne out of curiosity or confusion. In her eyes was something else entirely. And when her lips curved into the barest hint of a smile, into a silent avowal that only he could decipher, his heart understood as well and hammered wildly in his chest as if to warn him of an imminent catastrophe.

The song had ended. Fili whipped around and distracted his senses by draining the remnants of his pint in large gulps. 

“Are you finished there, lad?” Dwalin asked.

Fili slammed the pint back down and nodded, struggling to keep down the beer he had just forced into his throat. 

“I think our young prince has had a bit too much,” Gloin guffawed. “Come on then, time to go home.”

They stood from their chairs and clambered towards the door with a curt nod to the innkeeper. As they passed, the girl glanced at Fili one last time and fumbled with the pint she had in hand, dropping it to the floor.

“Will you be careful, Meleda!” the innkeeper berated her. “That best not be dented or it’s your skin!”

And before she could get up again, they were outside.

The night was clear and cool. While the dwarves walked through the town of men and towards the mountain, talking and reminiscing as they went, Fili listened but could not understand what he was hearing. At that moment, the name he had caught by fate was the only word that made any sense, and so he tucked it away carefully, like a sparkling gem in the palm of a hand, not yet knowing if he would ever have the chance to say it aloud.


End file.
